


Unification Ceremony

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [18]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Enthusiastically Consensual Monsterfucking, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Lamiae, Monstergirls, Monsters, Multi, Other, Oviposition, Plants, Public Sex, but everyone's having fun, naoise is the bike of the irestill crew, thoroughly unholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: To celebrate the renewed peace between the monsters and people of Irestill, the royals take part in a certain festival, alongside their True Dragon and a certain loyal knight.(Another double-chapter two-day prompt fill!)[Kinktober Day 19 - Public Sex, Upskirt, Bulges & Day 20 - Xenophilia]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hentaiblue Fantasy strikes again, dropping perfectly good opportunities for porn into my lap and I must take them. Like, honestly, you can't give me a perfectly good excuse to have beautiful people fucked by monsters and expect me to do anything else.
> 
> Scathacha is in dragon form the whole time.

They’ve been preparing for this for some time. A festival, a celebration of their new-won peace and unity—it’s a joyous occasion, something which Heles and Seruel can participate in as symbols, rather than as leaders, without inevitably taking control once more when they’ve already set aside their positions. For Heles, it’s an exciting prospect—for her brother, well, he’s always been a bit nervous about baring skin, especially for an Erune, but she’s sure he’ll be fine.

The two of them approach their makeshift stage, their ceremonial altar, and Heles takes point, always the more assertive and confident of the two; in view of the festival-goers, a group of monsters await, representatives from the other side. The scent of incense fills the air, subtle but heavy, calming Heles’s thoughts yet setting a faint heat alight under her skin.

The true dragon Deirdre—well, Scathacha, but restored to her true body—rests her head against the ground as she watches from the sidelines; at her side, Naoise stands armed, insistently vigilant. Her eyes glint as she flashes a glimpse his way; Naoise shifts, feeling her intentions but refusing to acknowledge them.

Heles smiles as a lamia slithers up to her, a woman with long red hair and golden eyes, tall from the sheer length of her thick, muscular tail; that tail slinks around Heles’s back, but she doesn’t flinch in the slightest. “So we get to play today, Princess?” The lamia purrs as she sidles closer; her clawed fingers settle on Heles’s waist. “Wow, you’re so pretty up close… I’m looking forward to this.”

Heles hums and draws her hand slowly across the lamia’s scaled tail, unafraid and unabashed. She casts a short glance back to Seruel, who immediately looks away to the crowd, then to the ground. The lamia’s coils nudge at her back and lift her closer—there’s a frightful thrill to the feeling of her feet leaving the ground and her weight being supported by the monster’s strength alone.

The crowd mutters; people bustle about, and some stop to stare at the spectacle. Unconsciously, Heles’s fingers grip at the lamia’s tail as their chests press together and the lamia’s hands trail along her sides, up to her neck and jaw. “Are you nervous, Princess?” the monster asks as she fits her body against Heles’s, her smile revealing slight fangs.

“Is it that obvious?” Heles laughs as she reminds herself to relax, spreads her legs a bit more to accommodate the lamia’s hips between them. “But it’s not a bad kind of nervous. I’m apprehensive, yes, but I’m also excited.” She speaks straightforwardly; her fingers come to rest atop the lamia’s arm, inviting her touch.

“You’re all shaky, but you’re warm,” the monster-woman hums as she strokes Heles’s jaw and cheek. Her tail pushes Heles upward and she slides downward along the line of Heles’s torso, peeling the thin hints of ceremonial dress away from her skin as she goes. The lamia’s tongue, long and forked, greets Heles’s breast and makes her gasp; clawed hands squeeze firmly at the undersides of her breasts and for a moment, that tongue works its way across her skin, coaxing soft moans from the princess’s throat. She can feel the eyes of the festival-goers on her, reminding her not to stifle herself; enjoying this union is part of the celebration, after all.

The scent of incense clogs her thoughts and makes it easier for her body to unwind in the lamia’s grasp. She doesn’t look toward the crowd, but she can feel their gazes even as the lamia’s tongue travels slowly along her stomach, past her hips and to the line of her short skirt. The lamia doesn’t bother to remove it, instead simply lifting the fabric and giving a pleased mutter when she finds no underwear impeding her path. A soft sound quivers in Heles’s throat as the lamia licks along her slit; she throws her head back slightly, and in doing so, she inadvertently catches sight of her companions.

Where Seruel looks away, no doubt steeling himself for when he’s inevitably called, Naoise’s gaze is hazy and his skin is dusted pink as he watches; Scathacha’s eyes are trained to Heles’s form, too, but with far more intention than Naoise’s distracted stare. It makes Heles shudder alongside the lamia grabbing her hips and pressing her tongue a little deeper inside; she can nearly feel the way the monster smirks against her cunt as she licks exploratively. That strong tail holds her up, high enough that she can easily be seen; to quell her nerves, Heles reaches forth and takes a handful of the lamia’s hair, guiding her focus back to this moment rather than all of its implications.

Despite the lamia’s human-like face, her tongue is anything but, thicker and longer and able to flatten out against the entire length of Heles’s slit with ease; the monster works her with skill, with slow licks grinding along her opening and up to her clit and then slipping her tongue between Heles’s folds and inside of her. Even if she weren’t reminding herself to let her voice out, Heles would have a hard time keeping quiet—her voice catches and her thighs quiver in the monster’s firm grasp, and she rocks her hips back against the lamia’s skilled mouth.

With a sigh the lamia rises up from between Heles’s thighs; she brushes a thumb across her face, catching a trail of Heles’s fluid as she breathes steadily. Her pupils are slit-shaped but they’re spread broad now, and her chest rises and falls as she takes a moment to survey Heles’s form. “Do you think they’re jealous of me, getting to touch you and make you moan like that? I wouldn’t blame them…” As she speaks, the lamia’s tail shifts in a ripple of muscle and she winds to Heles’s side, not minding how the suddenness makes Heles squeak; she catches the Erune from behind, now, her chest pressed to Heles’s back.

“There, now they can see better,” the lamia smirks as she whispers into Heles’s ear. A shudder wracks Heles’s spine unconsciously; more people have stopped to watch, now, and she can’t quite make out their faces, but their presence is undeniable. Hands reach up and cup her breasts, pushing them upward and accentuating their fullness; the lamia’s claws dig just barely into her skin, and Heles gives a fluttering sigh.

The tip of her tail, tapered off but thick still, slips upward and rubs against Heles’s pussy; her hips jerk and she grinds against it as the bulk of that tail stabilizes her legs to spread them apart. Her wetness fully exposed, Heles lets out a shaky, tense breath and sinks back against the lamia’s chest. Against the small of her back, a certain stiff, hot sensation throbs; from a slit at the base of the lamia’s torso rises something similar to a dick, but it’s unusually long and riddled with orblike bumps.

“You’re so hot, Princess… and wet, too. You must be really feeling it…” the lamia’s voice is a little hazy, too; a thin trail of incense-heavy smoke reminds Heles of why. “I wanna fill you up… see? My cock’s out and everything,” the lamia mutters hotly against the crown of her head, nearly into Heles’s ear; she shivers a bit against the monster as the smooth texture of scales draws slowly over her clit.

“I am ready,” Heles asserts, breathless; she reaches an arm over her head, around to the back of the lamia’s neck, and grips loosely at her shoulderblade. She looks up at the monster’s face, her oddly-gentle golden eyes and her thin, pleased smile. “I shall accept it gladly, so you have no need to hold back with me.”

The lamia giggles. “I don’t want to ruin you _too _much when the night’s just getting started,” she says as she lifts Heles’s skirt once more and slips her cock in between Heles’s legs, inadvertently rutting against her thighs with a quiet whine. “But, ah, when you say that… I just start thinking about how pretty you’d be, all fucked-out and full of my eggs…”

Heles sucks in a harsh, hot breath; she catches herself glancing at Scathacha again, who watches her without pause, but Scathacha’s claws are picking Naoise’s armor apart bit by bit as she does. Naoise’s dragon blood is starting to show in the gleam of his eyes and the pricks of scales along his skin; from the looks of it, he’s still trying to hold himself together, but he’s losing footing fast so close to Scathacha among everything else.

Another sweet laugh indicates the lamia’s pleased amusement; she shifts and presses her cock against Heles’s wetness, and Heles moans airily at the heat of it. She’s not too thick, but by no means is she slim; Heles gasps as she slowly presses her way inside, and the lamia sighs stickily as well. “Mm, you feel _good…_” the monster-woman purrs as she sheathes herself deep inside of Heles; she stays still for a moment to breathe before she starts to rock her hips steadily, holding the Erune tightly and grabbing at her tit as she sets a casual rhythm.

It’s different from anything Heles has experienced before, her cock (not truly that, but an ovipositor—still, the idea is close enough) leaving rippling waves of pleasure where the knot-like bulges of it slide in and out of her. The lamia gasps unevenly as she fucks Heles, muttering pleased nonsense into her hair; Heles looks up at the monster, but her eyes keep wandering to the starstruck audience that’s gathered before them, too far away to touch but close enough to easily see what a mess she is.

“They’re coming, Princess,” the lamia mumbles as she thrusts deeper yet inside of Heles and earns a crackling moan for it. “J-just a little more…” She rocks her hips shallowly and Heles all but whimpers, a fist unintentionally tying into the lamia’s hair as her cock seems to swell in the same way as an Erune’s knot. It’s overwhelming for the same reasons, the kind of pleasure that finds Heles seeing stars as she gasps and the egg slips in, rubbing past all of her most sensitive points as it goes. She comes from the first one, shivering as it presses all the way to her womb; the lamia shudders and whines as another fills her, and then a third with a rough, involuntary jerk of the lamia’s hips—Heles’s body sparks alight with a second orgasm on the lingering trails of the first.

Heles flops into the lamia’s arms as she loses some of her strength and slides down toward the ground, no longer able to hold Heles high; her tail winds around the both of them, protective. “Ah… wow…” the monster’s voice wavers as she runs her fingers through Heles’s hair, “They… won’t really _stay_, since I didn’t fertilize them or anything, but that’s okay.” She sets a hand atop Heles’s stomach, lightly curved from the eggs, and shifts so that Heles’s head rests across her lap.

“Hm? Is that something you can do yourself?” Heles mumbles absently as she catches her breath.

“I can! But…” the lamia laughs, “Miss Deirdre said it’d be rude if _I_ bred you when this is supposed to be a festival for _everyone_. So I’m being good.” The both of them glance at Scathacha, who looks rather like a pleased cat despite not having her Erune-ears to show it. “But… maybe another time, if...”

Heles shivers and whines thoughtlessly; the lamia curls up beneath her, her thick tail oddly warm and soft where it supports Heles’s back and shows her sweat-sheened skin to the crowd. “Ah, they’re gonna come out?” The monster hums as she looks the princess over, fingers gentle as they trail from her stomach down to her cunt. Heles gasps and whines, overcome by the heat that builds in her gut; the lamia spreads her lips wide, but it’s more just for show than anything.

The eggs in reverse are as intense as before, if not more so for how Heles’s flesh still quivers with the aftershocks of pleasure; they stretch her walls and push against all of her sensitive places as they work their way downward, one at a time. It reaches a peak when they push her entrance open, like lightning at every nerve where the egg presses was rings of muscle and out into the lamia’s waiting hand. The second one nearly makes Heles scream as she reaches yet another climax, and she trembles and whimpers all the way through the third before collapsing in a breathless heap against the lamia’s steady body.

“That was _perfect_,” the lamia breathes softly; “you did really good, Princess.” She holds the eggs up, dripping with Heles’s fluids and the lamia’s own, and smiles hazily as Heles’s eyes flutter drunkenly. The crowd mutters and someone whistles lowly in amazement, but Heles can’t bring herself to mind it terribly.

“Take a break, okay?” The lamia offers and Heles agrees with a small nod; the lamia’s gaze pointedly meets Scathacha’s, and the dragon nods slightly.

“Then, let us continue with you,” the dragon intones where Heles can barely hear; she glances over to see Seruel nudged to the stage to take her place, along with a pair of monsters. Knowing she can rely on him to continue the festivities while she recovers, Heles closes her eyes for a moment longer; as she does, she hears the low rumble of Scathacha’s voice saying “The night’s still young, after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ceremony continues, now with Seruel at its center.

Seruel was far less certain about all of this from the start, compared to his sister. But she’s undeniable when she has a point and he gets it, too, despite his nerves—not before the moment he stepped onto the makeshift stage, however, did he truly feel the weight of his nerves, not quite eased even by the incense they brought for specifically that purpose. He doesn’t do well being vulnerable or exposed, but he swallows it down; there’s no sense dwelling on his unease as Scathacha’s staring at him expectantly.

If anything, Naoise looks far more out of sorts than Seruel feels, and he finds that far more concerning—he’s still trying to stand steady, but he looks like he could fall over at any moment. Or perhaps it’s more that something is threatening to break free from his grasp, and he’s just barely holding it down—perhaps it’s both.

Regardless, Seruel steels himself and turns his gaze to the two monsters that’ve approached him—a pair of plant-types, one with a shy look on her face and a mushroom-cap atop her head and the other far bolder in her steps with vines hanging loose from her hair and wood-like skin. Neither of them wear a thing like clothes—but, they are monsters, after all.

“Oh, so we get to play around with the prince?” The bolder mandrake says, chipper. The mushroom-cap hides behind her slightly, watching Seruel intently.

Seruel nods slowly. “So it seems—though I’m not here to play around.” His voice is cold; the monsters aren’t oblivious to it.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she huffs as she seats herself atop one of the altar-like tables. “You’re too handsome to be all stiff and sour. C’mon,” the mandrake spreads her legs a bit, tilts her head as she grins at Seruel. “Aren’t you already riled up from waiting around? I know I am, so we can just cut to the chase.”

“That’s just as well,” he agrees with a sigh and steps a bit closer; she immediately kicks up a foot and puts it on his shoulder.

“Glad we can agree—so how about you get on your knees to start with, pretty boy?” For every bit that the mandrake is audacious, the belle behind her is entirely silent; she merely sits at the edge of the table and watches, her hands in her lap. Seruel gives a cheeky huff but obliges anyway, setting one hand on her hip as he kneels between her legs. She hooks her knee across his shoulder casually as he lowers himself; the scent that greets him is incredibly sweet, and it mixes with the thickness of the incense to nearly make Seruel’s head spin.

She gives an expectant sound and Seruel collects himself with a clear of his throat. “Getting distracted already?” Her legs cross behind his neck and pull him closer. “I don’t really like waiting, you know.”

He doesn’t dignify her impatience with a response, but he does take his mouth to her inner thigh and bite slightly—she gasps a little in surprise, but a grin crosses her lips quickly enough. Seruel closes his eyes and gathers his focus; as she said, she’s already plenty aroused, with trails of sap-sweet fluid along the soft, dark skin of her thighs. He licks it up as he works his way to her core; the taste is floral and dense, like over-sweet herbal tea, and it makes his tongue buzz with numbness.

The mandrake is nearly theatrical in how she leans back and moans, and she laces her fingers into his hair. “There we go—_oh_, you’re not bad at this,” her tone is intentionally a bit patronizing, but Seruel doesn’t let it faze him; he merely keeps to his task, drags his tongue up her slit slowly to her clit, which makes her shudder openly.

As he works his tongue along her folds she continues to let her voice out—but there’s nothing disingenuous about it, either. Her voice spikes honestly and she makes a show of it; he realizes that the more of her overwhelming scent he breathes in, the more he starts to feel like he’s drunk far too many glasses of wine. The world’s starting to blur and spin and he forgets that there’s really anyone watching; it’s the sound of a moan in his own throat that gives Seruel pause and makes him pull away from her to breathe.

“Eh? Hey, don’t stop _now_,” she whines, curling her fingers a little more tightly in his hair as she bends forward. “I was just getting close… oh?” The mandrake pauses and glances to her side, where the mushroom-monster tugs slightly at her arm; Seruel glances hazily up at her, too, and notices how her eyes are blown and her chest is rising and falling visibly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” the mandrake says as she releases Seruel’s hair to instead pet the smaller monster. “I got carried away—I told you to bother me if I did!” The belle shakes her head; just past her, Seruel notices that Naoise’s shirt is torn open and Scathacha is pretty unambiguously wrapped around him, tail and claws and all.

Vines catch Seruel’s attention, though it feels like everything’s processing at half the speed that it should—they wrap around his shoulders and haul him up to his feet, and he stumbles a bit into them, unsteady. The mandrake shifts to make room for Seruel on the platform and all but throws him onto it; he makes an irritated sound at being manhandled, but she doesn’t pay him much heed. By the time he can make sense of it he’s on his back with the belle crawling atop the table above him; the mandrake is there, too, but she’s straddling his hips and pulling his pants down impatiently.

“There we go, now we can both have fun with him!” She trills, and the mushroom-capped monster nods enthusiastically; in his haze, Seruel determines that she most likely _can’t _speak at all. He hisses as his cock, far harder than he’d realized, twitches when it’s released from his clothing; the mushroom monster settles over his face with an uncertain expression.

He wraps a hand around her thigh and casts her a questioning look; she glances away, flustered, but her hips wriggle and lower a bit and he gets the idea well enough. “You don’t have to be shy,” he manages to slur, and he doesn’t like the undignified mess that his tone’s become—at the least, it seems to have the right effect, because the small monster’s eyes light up a bit and she smiles, which Seruel finds cuter than he’d expected.

The mandrake giggles a bit and pushes herself up against his cock, which makes Seruel shudder absently. He extends his tongue toward the belle’s core experimentally; she whines wordlessly and grinds down closer without much thought, her legs quivering as she does. Seruel grumbles a bit but picks up his earlier work with ease; his rhythm is distracted for a moment, however, at the heat of the mandrake taking his cock inside of her in one easy thrust, and the shameless way she groans as she’s filled.

“He feels good, doesn’t he?” she prattles as she takes the smaller monster’s hands into her own, entwining their fingers. Seruel’s mind goes fuzzy at the far earthier (but no less intoxicating) taste of the belle’s sap, which drips over his face as he works his tongue through her folds and sucks lightly at her clit; between that, and the tight heat of the other monster, and the way they both let moans and whines spill from their throats, it becomes a lot to take in.

The vine-haired one groans loudly as she takes him in deep and then rocks her hips pointedly from side to side, seeking friction in some way Seruel can’t quite comprehend—still, he matches her pace where he can, rising to meet her as he divides his dwindling attention between the two of them. A few more hard slams of her hips and she cries out hard; her walls clamp tight and throb around him and he unintentionally digs his nails into the mushroom-cap’s soft thigh.

She rolls off of his hips with a grin like a satisfied cat, and the smaller monster immediately shifts away—Seruel gives a confused sound, but it makes sense quickly enough when she settles into the position her fellow plant-monster had taken seconds before. “Hehe, aren’t we impatient? But the show must go on, I guess,” the mandrake giggles drunkenly as she watches fondly how the belle takes him inside with near-silent desperation. With nothing to muffle him, Seruel shocks himself with the way his voice breaks out in a groan and his head falls back.

She stops still as if startled, and the sound of a breathy “Seruel,” catches the prince in the throes of his haze; his eyes snap open and he wills himself to focus, though it’s not all that hard to recognize Naoise’s voice. What’s surprising is that Naoise is so _close_, his hands clenched against the edge of the stone table as he looks down at Seruel with pupils blown wide and skin both dotted with pale scales and flushed to red depending on where he looks. “Sorry… I can’t…”

Even though Naoise’s words are slow to form and terribly distant, Seruel somehow knows what he’s trying to say; it’s evident enough by how Naoise’s cock bobs not so far from his face. He gives a small laugh and reaches up to take Naoise’s hand, unbothered by the draconic claws it’s formed. “It’s alright,” he explains hazily, “isn’t that… the point of this whole ordeal?”

Naoise growls and the sound alone sends a flicker of lightning down Seruel’s spine; the monster tentatively begins to move her hips again, slowly and unevenly, and Naoise places a knee on the table so he can line his cock up with Seruel’s lips. He’s not patient or careful about it, and the long tail he’s manifested flicks behind him as he thrusts forward; much as it’s uncomfortable and Naoise’s girth is a bit of a strain on his jaw, Seruel finds his thoughts going dizzy and the heat in his chest swelling up as Naoise fills his mouth.

The mushroom-capped girl picks up her pace, as if determining that Naoise isn’t in her way; Seruel loses himself in the combined heat of it all, Naoise against his tongue and the monster riding his dick. Naoise pants and growls Seruel's name like he’s as much of a beast as the actual monsters here—and perhaps with the way his body bends under Scathacha’s pressure, he very nearly is. The belle’s voice is soft but she cries out nonetheless, tiny and needy sounds as her companion, the mandrake, rises from the ground and gently wraps vines around her back in a stabilizing grasp.

“Four’s a party, huh...?” the mandrake breathes absently as she supports the smaller monster; Seruel hardly hears it, though, focused as he is on simply taking all of the sensations around him in. He’s long forgotten how many eyes are on him; he grasps absently at anything he can reach of Naoise, the leg of his pants or the hem of his torn shirt or his wrists, it hardly matters.

Somewhere far away yet deceptively close, Scathacha laughs gladly; Seruel whimpers as Naoise reaches the back of his throat and the monster rocks against him just so. “It warms my heart to see how well you all can get along,” she says, her voice strangely calm and austere. “Things are simpler when you forget about all your silly mortal trappings of station and decency, I find.”

He can’t exactly disagree, if only because he can barely think and Naoise’s dick is only barely not making him gag. Seruel catches a whine in his throat as his knot starts to swell; the monster cries out, too, a bit startled, but her companion steadies her shoulders and holds her still. “Oh? He’s getting bigger? I’m almost jealous…” the mandrake mutters; the smaller monster whines wordlessly and grinds down against him as she chases her own climax.

It bursts forth in a flash of colors and scents and sensations that barely make any sense, hot and overwhelming; Seruel bucks his hips hard and spills himself inside the monster, who keens sharply as she throws her head back and comes in turn. As he’s shaking and numb from it, Naoise doesn’t quite let up for a moment more; still, only a fuzzy moment passes before Naoise’s release coats his tongue and the knight gives a choked, hoarse cry.

Seruel’s face is a mess when Naoise pulls away, sticky with the fluids that drip from his lips—his gaze is distant and wrecked, but despite the insane, exhausting pleasure of it, he knows in his fuzzy consciousness this isn’t nearly the end of the night. Still, as the vine-haired monster helps ease her smaller companion off of his dwindling knot, it signals a chance for a reprieve; Scathacha hums to herself, and Seruel glances vaguely in her direction.

“Shall we continue?” the dragon rumbles, casting her glance to Naoise and then to Heles; the knight mumbles nonsensically, and the princess gives an affirmative hum of her own. In the distance, the crowd bustles and shifts; the ceremony will go on until the night’s end, and truthfully, despite the tiredness that tries to cling to Seruel’s bones, the idea is more exciting than it ought to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda want to write a side take to all this that's Naoise's POV so I can write Scathacha teasing the shit out of him, but if I do that, it will be... after kinktober. Right now I got a lot of catching up to do from my trip last weekend...


End file.
